Ours Is the Night
by Craft Rose
Summary: After several soundless moments, her hand drifted down to her side, and he sucked in a quick breath. Their eyes were glued to one another as if daring the other to look away, but neither did.


**Author's Note: Re-post.**

* * *

Ours Is the Night

There were voices coming from the lower levels, where the others stood vigil over the gates. Draco closed the door behind him, unable to detangle his hopes from his fears. He paced the room, pushing back the nerves that collected in and around his chest. It was nearly time. The eve of battle was upon them, but there was no need to feel nervous. Lord Voldemort's side stood three thousand strong, whereas the Order had managed to wrangle less than two hundred in support for Potter.

Draco tugged at the ends of his pale blond hair, relieved when the prickling pain in his skull overshadowed the pain in his core. It was all he could do to ensure he was not already dead. Merlin knew, he felt like a ghost and acted like one, too. Recent weeks had rendered him silent and still, clinging to the shadows and looking to the stars for an answer.

"This must be the end," he whispered, moisture collecting around his eyes, as he squeezed them shut. "I can't do this anymore. I can't —"

As it turned out, the stars never answered him…but that night, someone did.

Draco whipped his head to the side, towards the wardrobe. "Who — Who's there?" he asked, fearing his mother had followed him and witnessed his meltdown. The last thing he needed was more hovering and coddling. Even so, it was better she than his Aunt Bellatrix. His last conversation with Bellatrix had been eventful, to say the least.

It was vivid in his memory.

 _Come, Draco. Closer! Look at her! Is this the Mudblood girl? Is this Potter's friend?_

 _I…I can't be sure…_

But those were all lies. Because he _was_ sure. In fact, he had known the truth all along. It happened weeks ago, and yet the events were still fresh in his mind. The snatchers had dragged some prisoners to the manor, unbeknownst to their true identities. There were three: Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger.

The boys had been thrown into the dungeons. Granger, on the other hand, had been tortured and interrogated in front of his own eyes. His aunt slapped and shouted at and marked the girl — etching the word _Mudblood_ into her skin — until all that escaped Hermione Granger's chapped lips were agonizing screams.

He remembered it well.

Those screams haunted him.

And in Hermione Granger's moment of torture, he wondered whether she had lived or she had died.

But there was no purpose in wondering, not anymore.

Draco narrowed his eyes, unable to distinguish the darkened shape moving from beneath the shadows, until it was too late. A surge of adrenaline shot through him, coaxing him to point his wand and shoot, but he was too slow to the draw.

" _Stu_ — _!_ "

There was movement behind the wardrobe, and then something rippled through mid-air. It was a cloak, an invisibility cloak, and underneath it stood a bronze-eyed, curly-haired girl whom he knew to be the Gryffindor know-it-all herself. She was dressed in tattered Muggle clothes — consisting of jeans and a thin navy blue cardigan over a white top — and forced her unruly hair into bulbous ponytail.

The girl jumped from her position and disarmed him, quick as fire, hurtling him back about twelve inches, as his wand soared through mid-air and landed squarely in the palm of her outstretched hand.

Draco stared at her wide-eyed, feeling his palms begin to sweat. " _What — What the hell are you doing here_?"

There was no response from her, not a verbal response anyway. She merely stood there, clutching both their wands, returning his look of horror with one of her own.

In that moment, his eyes darted to the door and he tried to make a run for it, to alert the others that they were under attack, but his legs were rendered immobile within seconds.

"Let — Let me go!" he shouted, throwing his arms in her direction, trying to grab his wand from her grasp.

She gasped, leaning back, as his arms swung wildly at her. " _Stop! Stop it!_ "

Draco ground his teeth together, frustrated and defeated and even embarrassed at what was happening. Surely the Dark Lord would kill him on the spot, if he knew Potter's Mudblood friend had been able to make such a mockery out of him.

"I swear, Granger! If you don't let me — !"

" _STOP!_ " she shouted, slapping a hand over his mouth and shooting another spell at him to bind his arms together. "I'm not here to hurt you," she spoke, lowering her tone and searching through his eyes for any level of understanding. "The only reason I disarmed you is because you had your wand out."

He stared at her, dumbfounded.

Not only was she speaking falsehoods, she was also _touching_ him. Her hand curved over his lips, smelling vaguely of earth and copper. She was bleeding. She was bleeding in several places actually, but the most horrific of her injuries was the _Mudblood_ carving on her left forearm. The scab had reopened and bled down her arm, onto the hand she had clasped over his mouth.

Draco swallowed hard, feeling the hardness in his facial muscles vanish, as she stood there in front of him, in the flesh.

After several soundless moments, her hand drifted down to her side, and he sucked in a quick breath. Their eyes were glued onto one another, as if daring the other to look away, but neither did.

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked again, softer this time.

Her wand was still pointed at him, but it faltered every now and then. "I — I —"

"You know what will happen to you, if anyone sees you here," he warned, thinking distantly of their previous skirmish.

Her expression turned solid. "You've seen me," she spoke, as more of a fact than a challenge. "Aren't you going to tell anyone I'm here?"

His eyes widened a moment. "I — I — _what's wrong with you?_ "

Granger lowered her wand, having pocketed his moments ago. "I'm alone…and I'm not here to hurt you," she reiterated. "I just — I —"

"Tell me why you're here, or I _will_ alert the others," he threatened, rolling up his left sleeve, under which his Dark Mark rested. "All I have to do is press a finger to this skull and everyone — all three thousand of them — will know I'm in trouble."

She stared at him, at a loss for words. Her mouth opened and then closed, several times.

Draco waited, about thirty or so seconds, until lowering his right index finger, watching as her lips began to quiver. It was almost sadistic, almost. His finger got within half an inch of the skull, when suddenly she launched at him.

" _Stop_!" Granger shouted, eyes wild with desperation. "P — Please. I just — I'm here because — because —" There was sweat building on her forehead, acting as adhesive between her skin and the tiny tendrils of hair that fell loose from her ponytail. She breathed in and then out, overcome with whatever words rested on the tip of her tongue.

"Spit it out," he demanded, knowing only a fool would let her carry this on for so long. "Come on, Granger. Just _do it_. You're only making things difficult for yourself by —"

"— _I'm here to say goodbye —_ "

" — prolonging this for so…so…" Draco froze, feeling his eyes and mouth twist with shock. "What did you just say?"

The look on her face went from bad to worse. Her cheeks and neck turned bright red, out of embarrassment rather than anger. "I'm here to say goodbye," she repeated, with less conviction this time around.

Draco gawked at her, uncertain as to whether or not he heard her right. The words that left her mouth repeated in his subconscious, again and again, driving him further down this labyrinth of bewilderment, until finally his wits returned.

"You're bleeding," he voiced, flicking his eyes to the wound on her forearm.

She glanced down. "Oh…I…"

It wasn't a wound she could heal with magic, or he was sure she would have done it by then. "There are Healing supplies in the desk," Draco told her, speaking with as much indifference as he could muster. "Hold on — I'll just — erm." He moved to his desk and rifled through the contents, until locating a small, wooden box with the symbol for Healing engraved on the front. "Essence of dittany…should do…fine…"

Granger slowly found his side and glanced down, observing as he prepared several bandages by dipping them into the essence and then setting them down on the desk, in front of her.

"These should stop the bleeding," he mumbled, speaking so faint he was sure the words hadn't actually come out of his mouth. "Just…erm…use them sparingly."

She watched him, a curious expression on her once horror-stricken face. "Thank you."

Draco said nothing, opting instead to move back several feet and give her room to heal. He turned his back and then closed his eyes, as though the past few moments had been nothing but a hallucination, and that Granger wasn't actually standing in the middle of his bedroom, where any number of dangerous people could walk in and find her.

But what did he care?

The idiot Mudblood knowingly put her life in danger — for whatever reason — which led him to believe something drastic had happened. Draco sucked in a sharp breath, alarmed, and faced her. "Is — Is Potter —?"

"Harry's fine," she answered, hissing every now and then from the pain, as she applied the dittany-soaked bandages to her forearm.

"Weasley?"

"He's fine, too."

Draco narrowed his eyes, perplexed. "I don't understand," he started, approaching the desk, where she stood. "If everyone is fine, then why did you come here to say —"

"Because I don't know how tomorrow will turn out," she answered swiftly, biting on her lower lip, before applying the last bandage. "Tonight might be the last chance anyone gets to…to tie up loose ends."

"Is that why you're here?" he asked, pointedly. " _To tie up loose ends_."

Granger tossed a disdainful look at him. "The last time I was here you could have identified me and my friends and by doing so, handed Voldemort the missing piece to his puzzle — but you didn't," she started. "To me, that means you're a good person."

There was an arch in his brow. "You are aware I'm a Death Eater, aren't you?"

"If you were a true Death Eater, you would have followed through with your task and killed Dumbledore on the Astronomy Tower — but you didn't. That's strike number two."

The muscles in his jaw twitched, as he clenched. "I don't suppose you have a third strike up your sleeve."

"I do, actually." Granger held up her forearm. "Not only have you refrained from alerting the others that I'm here, you've also helped me." She exhaled, evenly. "Thank you."

Draco swallowed hard, again, and searched for the right words to refute her points, but she had everything laid out, no questions asked. The facts were there. "I…you're welcome…" he managed to say. "But that still doesn't explain why you're here to say goodbye."

"You're a good person, a good — sometimes cruel and needlessly prejudiced — person," she explained, looking up at him. "And good people deserve goodbyes."

There was a change in his bloodstream. It went from adrenaline-filled madness to something scarcely close to acceptance. It can't have been true. She can't possibly have come all this way to wish him farewell, simply for a few things he had done in favour of the other side. It wasn't goodness that kept him from identifying them and killing Dumbledore. It was cowardice. That's what he had told himself, repeatedly, for the past year.

Granger studied his wavering expression. "You don't believe me."

"Because you're wrong."

"If I'm wrong, prove it," she challenged, reaching into her back pocket and holding out his wand. "Here — take this and prove to me that I'm wrong. I'll let you get the first shot."

He narrowed his vision, staring at the wand and then back at her. "You're —"

" _Draco?_ " someone called from the other side of the door. " _Draco? Open this door at once! What are you doing in there?_ "

The young man shot a look at his classmate, who was already mid-way through throwing the Invisibility Cloak over her head. Without any inclination as to why, he helped her and ushered her into the wardrobe, before rushing to his door and swinging it open. There, in all black, stood Lucius.

"Father, I'm so sorry. I must have fallen asleep."

Lucius glared at his son and entered the room, glancing around. "I heard voices."

"Voices?" Draco repeated, feigning surprise as best he could, and doing his absolute best not to look at the wardrobe. "Perhaps I was — Perhaps I was talking in my sleep."

The older wizard turned. "Do you play me for a fool?"

"N — No. Never. I — I just —"

Lucius raised his hand and struck his son across the face, two times, leaving a reddish handprint on both sides. " _Do_ _not_ think for one _second_ that you can fool me," he warned, shaking the ache from his hand before using it to withdraw his embellished wand from the confines of his cloak. " _Do you understand_?"

Draco stared at him, moist-eyed and humiliated. "I — yes — yes — I understand."

" _To whom_ were you speaking?"

"Father…I…I wasn't speaking to anyone…I…I…"

Lucius grabbed his son by the collar and jabbed his wand against the schoolboy's throat. "I will ask you one more time, Draco. _Where_ did those voices come —?"

The pair of them turned their heads to the door, where Greyback stood, looking at them as though this was not an uncommon scene to behold.

Nevertheless, Lucius reluctantly released his son and faced the werewolf. "What is it?"

"Dark Lord says we're to take care of some Blood Traitors he has trapped in the dungeons," Greyback answered, flexing his gargantuan fingers. "Question them about Potter's whereabouts…amongst other things." The look that played on his lips was nauseating. "You in?"

Draco looked to his father, the years melting away from his face as he stood there like a little boy, hoping his abuser would leave him be.

"I suppose I have no choice," Lucius answered, after a moment's thought. "I'll meet you there."

"Aye." Greyback nodded his head and then left.

Lucius turned back to his son, seething with venom. "I'll be back in an hour to finish this _discussion_ …and don't you dare think about leaving this room, or so help me Salazar, I will find you and throw you in the dungeons with the Blood Traitor scum. _Is that understood_?"

"Y — Yes," Draco nodded, white in the face. "I — I understand, Father. I'm sorry for — for —"

The door slammed shut behind Lucius, as he left his son stuttering and stumbling over an apology that would never be heard.

Silence.

Deafening silence.

Draco moved to the edge of the bed, feeling the weight on his shoulders begin to wear him down. He breathed in and then closed his eyes, acutely aware of the door to the wardrobe creaking open, and a pair of much lighter footsteps coming towards him.

The voice that followed was soft and subtle. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," he muttered, stretching his jaw about to get some of the feeling back in his face. "Just — nothing. I'm fine."

"I always knew your father was cruel," she spoke. "I just never knew he was cruel to you."

Draco scoffed. "That's me, poor little rich boy."

"Does he do this often?" she asked, speaking with caution.

"It doesn't matter —"

"It _does_ matter," Granger interjected, finding her place beside him, on the edge of the bed.

Draco could feel the shift and glanced to his right, meeting eyes with her. It made him uncomfortable, the manner in which she stared at him as though they were old friends, as though he hadn't made her life miserable for the six years preceding that moment. From an early age, he'd known this particular girl was a _little_ on the nutter side, but to have her be so unapologetically Gryffindor…was…decidedly daunting.

The brunette stared between his eyes, and then to the imprint on both his cheeks. "Are you okay?" she asked again, as though his answer had changed.

"It's nothing I can't handle," Draco offered, running a hand through his hair and allowing it to fall over his eyes, like a mask. "It's the Pureblood way."

"It's abuse," Granger uttered. "You know it is."

"And?" he asked, looking at her for an answer. "So what?"

She stared at him, alarmed. "You shouldn't let him do that."

Draco laughed, in disbelief rather than genuine amusement. "Do you think I enjoy being smacked about?" he asked, gesturing to the markings. "My father isn't like yours. The rules are different here. If I misbehave or disobey him in any way, shape or form, I don't get grounded or lectured. I get beaten and publicly shamed, and the best part is — _I don't care_ ," he announced, rising from the bed. "And neither should you."

The girl rose with him, milliseconds later, and followed him to the window. It was too high up for anyone to see them, but she still positioned herself in a way that kept her hidden.

"You want to say goodbye?" Draco asked, watching her watch him through his peripheral vision. "Go ahead, because you won't be seeing me after tonight."

She narrowed her eyes, confused. "What are you talking about?"

He released another one of those bitter laughs. "You disarmed me without even trying, so what chance does that give me against full-fledged Aurors?"

"You don't have to fight against us," Granger told him, as though it made a difference. "You — You can come back with me and we can — we can explain to others that —"

"That what? That I'm an ex-Death Eater?" he posed, using all six feet and three inches of his height to tower over her. "I'm sure the good guys would _love_ to have a person like me in their ranks. Ha! I thought you were smarter than that, Granger."

"You're being unfair."

"Unlike you, I'm being logical," he corrected. "What sense does it make for you to be _here_ on the eve of battle?"

"I already answered that —"

"Shouldn't you be fawning over Potter and Weasel? You don't belong here. I wasn't lying when I said there are three thousand —"

Granger groaned in frustration. " _Will you stop?_ " she all but begged. "I know it's dangerous here but in case you weren't aware, I've never been one to let danger stop me because…I…I just…I'm worried about you, Malfoy. Happy?" She paused a moment, having a breather. "I've been worried since the skirmish, and if that makes my being here illogical, then so be it." The girl threw her arms up in frustration and turned, moving towards the wardrobe.

Draco watched, in silence, as she felt along the floor for the Invisibility Cloak, having made the grave mistake of resting it invisible-side-up. Her small hands patted around, coming to no avail. She was growing more and more agitated by the second. He could tell. He'd seen that look on her face before, during exams and study sessions, but never like this, where her friends weren't there to talk her down, only him.

"Granger, wait…" he spoke, searching through her eyes for something he didn't quite understand. "Granger?"

She ignored him, hiding her face from his curious looks. Resigned, he knelt down and handed the cloak to her, having located it with one swipe across the floor.

"You needn't worry about me," he furthered. "I…I don't deserve it."

"Don't be a prat," she countered, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ear. "I think we both know the truth."

Draco tossed her a puzzled look. "We do?"

For a moment it appeared she had no response, but that moment quickly passed, and in its wake she turned to him. There was something definitive about the steadiness in her eyes, as though she could communicate every secret under the sun with just one look, as though she'd always been able to — but didn't.

"…Thank you," he uttered. "For worrying, I mean."

There was a twitch along her bottom lip. "I…I should probably go."

Something tugged at Draco's chest muscles. He sat there, immobile, as she draped the cloak over her head. He opened his mouth to say something — to protest, even though he knew this was best — but no words came out. It was more of a gasp, caught somewhere between frantic and fearful.

"Granger?" he called out, eyes darting from one end of the room to the other, until glancing down and noticing the footprints in the dust.

Draco followed the footprints, coming to an abrupt halt near the door. There was a sound — a sharp expulsion of air — as he made direct bodily contact. The cloak fell to the floor, revealing the girl as she stood less than a foot from him. Her back was turned, but he could tell she was anxious about something. She dropped down and attempted to retrieve the cloak, but he met her frenzied movements with a gentle hand on her wrist.

She glanced up at him, flustered. "What are you…?"

It came with unsurprising ease, lifting her from the floor in such a way that left her standing across from him…inches away. There was something riveting about the look in her eyes. She stared at him, engrossed by the manner in which things had taken such a swift turn. It was clear to him, just then, that she had no idea.

"I'm not good at things like this," he spoke. "Being…forthright."

Granger blinked, blending her upper and lower lashes together and then separating them, providing passage for her warm, bronze-flecked eyes. "You don't have to say anything," she told him, chest rising and falling in such a way, that Draco was sure the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. "Just…don't speak."

He breathed in, feeling his eyes slam shut and his lips quiver, as time and space stood still. The distant sound of a ticking clock was no more. The only sound he could hear was the reverberation in his chest, the increase and the fast, borderline blinding rate at which his surroundings faded into the background.

She grazed her fingertips over the skin of his cheeks, where the redness was no longer the product of Lucius' hard strike, but rather something else, something far less humiliating but confounding all the same. He was blushing. His cheeks, neck, forehead. The colour ran deep, speaking volumes for words he hadn't the courage to say. There was lightness in his chest, lightness that transferred through to the rest of his body, leaving him weightless and absorbed in this simple touch.

But it wasn't simple.

It had never been simple.

Draco opened his eyes and grasped both her hands, holding them still. "Don't do it," he whispered. "Don't."

"I —" Her voice broke. She blinked again, self-conscious in both her demeanour and the sound of her staggered breathing. The girl turned from him, attempting to leave the scene as she had before, but her efforts were suspended in thin-air. She glanced back at him, realizing their hands were still together.

His grip loosened some. "I'm not sure if I can — if I can —" There was a hitch in his chest.

Granger didn't move. "If you can…?"

"Be brave enough," he finished.

Her expression softened. "You'll be fine. You said it yourself. There are _three thousand_ —"

"I'm not talking about the war," Draco interjected, speaking with an indicative inflection in his voice. As if on its own accord, his gaze drifted lower, from her eyes to her lips. "I'm talking about you — about _us_."

"I didn't know there _was_ an us."

He swallowed hard, pushing back the nerves that collected in his throat. "Isn't that — Isn't that why you came here?"

She paused, searching through his eyes for answers and after several moments, finding something. It happened slowly after that. She moved close to him again, taking step after step and meeting him with even less distance than their original position.

Draco exhaled, having held his breath until then, and reached behind, unclasping the piece that held her hair together. She rocked back an inch, surprised but not annoyed. Her hair fell to her elbows and around her neck, in long, luscious curls. It looked nothing like the birds nest he remembered, and it felt nothing like it either. "I've always wanted to do this," he confessed, weaving his fingers through her hair.

There was heaviness in his gaze, in the way he drank her figure from the bottom up. Her cheeks flushed.

His eyes flicked up, meeting hers, and then drifted to her lips, where she sucked in one last breath before words became impossible.

Their bodies moved closer. Draco moved his hands from her hair, to the sides of her face, where he grazed both cheeks and brought her mouth to his. She breathed in — flustered and feverish — as their lips hovered millimetres apart. The slightest shift would do it.

Her soft expulsions of air were warm against his lips. She was nervous. He was nervous, too. But neither could move.

Granger closed her eyes. "Is this happening?"

"Do you want it to happen?"

She quivered against him, with anticipation rather than repulsion or fear, and then leaned in, answering his question.

Their lips touched.

Their mouths moulded together, brushing and kissing and all but devouring. It took so long to get there, but when they finally did, the emotions hit them like tidal waves, over and over and over again, kindling the fire that had always been there.

The night was young, and would always be theirs.

 _ **The End**_


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